


Lost and Found

by dridri93



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Coulson is alive, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-26 14:24:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/966985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dridri93/pseuds/dridri93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow Darcy gets lost. And finds someone who's supposed to be dead. She thinks. But, you know, he's not.</p>
<p>Then she gets a concussion. Thanks, Natasha. Really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thecookiemomma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecookiemomma/gifts).



> This is me revealing to the wide world who wrote this thing. I wrote it for this prompt:
> 
> Darcy Lewis somehow stumbles on to a Not!Dead Coulson. Does she decide to spill the beans? Does it happen anyway? If you wanna stick some sort of romance in there somewhere, feel free (Just not ThorKi, please).
> 
> ~~
> 
> So, yeah. Enjoy!

Darcy has no clue how she’s managed to wander her way out of Jane’s lab and end up in the hospital ward. She was looking for the coffee machine, honest! Oh well, now that she’s here she might as well…look around. You know, scope out the territory, see if Dr. Banner’s here today. Ya know.

So she walks. And walks. And then she walks some more, her legs beginning to ache (a diet of donuts and black coffee is not good for fitness, people!). She passes blank door upon blank door, occasionally disturbed by a random hallway branching off. Finally, she finds the end of the hall, and _honestly_ , whoever was supposed to clean down here was horrible at their job. Is that an orange or a spontaneous ball of mold? She can’t even tell anymore. Nasty.

But even in this nasty hallway, there’s one last sterile-gray door. It seems a little strange that SHIELD would stick someone in this room in particular, but there was a light on inside. Of course, Darcy goes inside. Hey, the door isn’t locked, obviously it was open to visitors!

The lab assistant sticks her head in and stops cold. The name on the charts was most definitely fake. Phil Coulson had definitely died two weeks ago. Thor had been all beaten up about it and everything (though a few hours alone with Jane and all was made better). She was even pretty sure that she’d gone to his funeral at some point last week, but then again she’d been to…how many funerals now? Eighteen?

Eh, she was pretty sure she’d been in the same room as a red-eyed Natasha Romanoff, and Phil Coulson and Clint were the only two who could make _her_ cry. Seriously, Darcy aspired to being like that. She was way too emotional for her own good – but it did get her out of quite a few tense moments in New Mexico…

Darcy glances at the chart one last time, shaking that train of thought off the tracks. Seriously, next she’d be mentally ranting about Jane’s inability to think about anything but getting Thor home. Seriously, the woman was frigging _obsessed_. Geez Louise.

Aaand, there she goes again. Phil Coulson, Darcy, Phil. Focus on the…man on the bed who is extremely familiar. _PHIL?!_ Yep. That’s Agent Coulson alright. Wow, Fury. That’s harsh, even for an asshole like you – and kinda stupid, too. I mean, really, telling your two best agents that their mentor is dead? Lying to the best super-spies in the world? That’s special, dear Director.

Darcy shakes her head again, staring at the man in the bed. He looks okay, for a man who took a spear to the chest not two weeks ago. A little pallid around the edges, and he might even have a few more wrinkles, but hey! He’s breathing, his heart’s beating, so he’s okay. Hopefully. Either way, she _probably_ shouldn’t touch anything. She might accidentally break something important.

Darcy steps backward out of the room and runs into a hard wall of leather and buckles. Oh shit.

A deep voice, all too familiar, echoes from behind her. “Miss Lewis, care to explain why you’re in the most secure section of the medical ward?”

Darcy gulps and stutters, “Um…coffee?”

She turns just in time to catch the barest hint of confusion and utter annoyance on Director Fury’s face. “ _Coffee?_ How did you get halfway across the SHIELD facility in search of a simple pot of coffee?” the Director practically spits into her face. (She could swear she just felt actual spit hit her cheek. Nasty.)

Darcy giggles nervously, “Um, see, that’s what I don’t quite know. I was just walking, you know, and then I must’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere because I ended up in the medical ward, and then I kept walking, because really, do you have a single coffee maker in this place? It is a _tragedy_ , and I’m sure Tony Stark would agree with me!”

Fury sighs, “Mr. Stark does not have any jurisdiction over our…coffee maker placement. I suggest you talk with logistics. Back to the point, Miss Lewis, I am sure that you will discuss with no one what you just saw?”

And…Darcy snaps. Just a bit. Okay, maybe a lot. “Ex _cuse_ me? You want me to hide this from _Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton_? I can’t hide shit from _Thor_! How exactly is this going to work?”

Fury growls, “You will hide it, or so help me I will find a way to blame you.” His one eye glowers and Darcy flinches, just a bit. Those two are scary when mad. Like, piss your pants and cry for momma scary.

But Darcy persists, “Fury, man. I don’t think you understand here. You expect me, the master of putting my foot into my mouth, to hide something from two assassins, two geniuses, a super soldier (who by the way can make a supervillain confess just by raising his eyebrow), and a god!”

Fury nods, ignoring her sarcasm. “Exactly, Miss Lewis. Now, if you please, will you leave the way you came? There’s a coffee machine in the lounge right next to Doctor Foster’s lab.”

Darcy moans, “I’m so screwed,” and trudges away.

She still gets lost on the way back and almost walks in on Tony doing some Science! that involved blowing things up. (She’s _this close_ to having her eyebrows singed off.)

When she finally makes her way back to Jane’s lab (so sue her, she has a horrible sense of direction!), she walks in on none other than the two assassins she kinda-feared most.

She has a foot-in-mouth moment.

“Oh my God guys don’t kill me Fury said not to tell you I swear and he had this homicidal look and Phil looked so pale and I really just wanted to tell you but he wouldn’t let me and – ulp!” She’s stopped cold by an arm across her throat and her skull bodily meeting a wall. _“Hey, wall, wassup?”_ her brain giggles. Concussion? Probably. With her luck.

Someone’s snarling at her. _“That’s not nice!”_ her brain mutters. She tells it to shut up before her mouth manages to catch up. Then she actually listens, and catches something along the lines of, “What do you mean, Phil? Agent Coulson is dead, Lewis. _Dead_.”

Her brain decides to say _“Fuck you!”_ and finally connects to her mouth, which spouts, “Um, nu-uh, Fury’s lying, he _fooled_ you, oh, when Tony hears this he’ll be laughing so hard, seriously – gack!” And the arm presses harder and her brain decides to shut up. Finally.

Then someone’s walking up and talking and she honestly can’t understand them but it must be good because the arm is gone and she’s falling, falling, falling…there’s the ground. Missed the ground, so hard and solid. And…someone’s shaking her shoulders. Maybe she should tune back in now, huh?

“…Darcy, can you hear me? What do you mean Fury lied?” Oh, Clint’s talking now. Nice man, cute face, amazing arms…he had a question. What was the question?

Her brain takes the incentive again: “Huh?”

Clint goes off on a diatribe again (such a funny word, _diatribe_ ) and she really can’t follow it, he’s talking to fast and now he’s shaking her shoulders again, how exactly is that supposed to help? It’s just making her nauseous. She chokes back a bit of puke and waves an arm.

Clint gets the hint. (A rhyme! Hehehe…) She swallows once, twice, and the vomit goes away (thank God, ‘cause that was nasty) and she tries to say, “Coulson’s in the hospital ward in the back where no one cleans but Fury told me not to tell you.”

It comes out, “Coolsunsh en te ospitl wrd en te beck were nuune clensh buh Fuh’ry tol me no’ ta tehl youuuu.” With the drawn out ‘u’. Fuck her life, sometimes her brain and mouth _conspired_ to get her killed.

But then Clint proved that he was truly fluent in Drunk by saying, “So, Coulson’s in the…back hospital ward…where no one cleans. But Fury told you not to tell anyone?” Darcy nods, the motion of her head making the room spin in a nauseating way and yeah, she definitely has a concussion. Damn super-spies with tons of muscles and some horrible impulse control.

Clint snorts. “Horrible impulse control? Look who’s talking.” She said that out loud, didn’t she? “Yes, you did, Darce. You have a concussion.” No, duh, really? “Really, really.” Damn, she has to stop that. “Nah, it’s actually kinda funny.” Dammit!

Then Natasha cuts into their conversation. Her voice sounds like a whip, which is a weird comparison, is she a dominatrix or something? No, no, Darcy, the scary woman is talking. Shh…

“…On that note, Lewis, how did you get there?”

Darcy tries to say “I got lost trying to get coffee and I really have no idea don’t hurt me!” But once again her brain-to-mouth isn’t working. She hears, “I goh lohs trehng ta geh cafee an’ I reellee haf no idee don’ huhr mee!”

Clint shows his worth as a translator again, stating, “She got lost trying to get…coffee?...and she has no clue. Coffee, Darce, really? There’s a machine not twenty feet from the doorway. How the hell do you get halfway across the compound?!”

She nods again, but this time her hands clutch at her stomach in an attempt to hold back the bile she could feel (and _taste_ , what the hell had she eaten oh my God) rising. Clint grabs her shoulder and doesn’t shake and it actually kinda helps. A little. Enough to keep her from puking on his shoes, anyway. But the floor? The floor is a different matter.

And, yup, she remembers now. She had that gross burrito with those burnt pinto beans and she can taste it in her mouth and it’s sitting on the floor in chunks. Just. Nasty. (She says nasty a lot, doesn’t she? Huh. Catchphrase!)

Clint screws up his nose and almost manages not to cringe, but she catches it, yes she does! Gross burrito vomit makes even assassins back away. She sure wants to, but she’s kinda against a wall and oh god it’s spreading toward her and Clint is…he’s picking her up. What?

Her brain stops for just a few seconds as it reboots. Then her ears kick back in and she just catches Clint muttering, “Gross, Darce.” Well, she can’t help it, dammit, she has a concussion thanks to Crazy Lady over there!

And Clint’s laughing and Natasha’s sputtering and oh, god, she must’ve said that out loud again. Oh, god, why?

Jane says something, where did she come from, has she always been here? All she hears is Natasha’s response: “Yes, apparently even Loki couldn’t kill him off. Thank goodness.” Phil, that’s who they’re talking about, that’s why she has a concussion, dammit, Phil, why couldn’t you protect me? Some super-agent.

Clint chuckles rattle her body, they’re deep and long and he just says, “C’mon, Darce, let’s get you to the hospital wing. Tasha and me will go exploring.”

Oh goodie. Fury’ll have a hissy fit, and it’s not even her fault anymore.


End file.
